The Finger of Blame
by Daggerella
Summary: This takes place directly after Seth Rollins' abandonment of his teammates on Raw (3/3/14) and his subsequent mysterious absence. The Ambreigns feels be hella strong, yo. Rated M for m/m sex, D/s, abusive language. It's sooo worth it though, trust me.


It was already 11:30 at night by the time Roman and Dean remembered they hadn't eaten all day. They had both been so preoccupied with finding Seth since he walked out on them that everything else ended up taking a back seat. Between Dean alternately sobbing and punching things and Roman silently brooding, staring angrily and curling and uncurling his large fist, they had both been on high alert, and it was quickly sapping their energy.

Dean was the first one to suggest it, more because he was getting tired of Ro's intimidating silence than anything. "Hey, uh, maybe we should eat something. I mean, I know we've gotta find him, but we can't do much about it right now, he's not answering his phone, nobody else has seen him, so...why don't you cook us some steak or something? Take your mind off it, you know..." he trailed off, waiting for Roman's expression to change.

Finally taking his eyes off the middle distance, Roman looked up at Dean from his place sitting on the floor, his back slumped against the wall. "What? Who's got steak?" he asked, perking up suddenly. Dean laughed at his friend's distracted mumblings, glad that he could still at least get him to react to the promise of food. "No, dumbshit..._you_ cook the steak. For US. You know, how you're a really good cook and you really like cooking, and I blew up the toaster the last time I tried making a Pop-Tart?" he questioned, walking slowly backward toward the kitchen. "I mean, I can cook if you want...or at least I'll _try_, but I'm not guaranteeing anything." He really hoped Roman wasn't going to call his bluff.

Ro stood up. "No, no. Please, for the love of God, no. You are _not_ cooking anything. Go sit down somewhere." He quickly shooed Dean away into the living room, already focused completely on his new objective of acquiring and ingesting delicious steak. Dean smiled, relieved that Ro appeared to have snapped out of whatever kind of funk he had been in. Plus, now he was getting dinner made for him, which was a definite bonus. "Ok man, I'll just be in here drinking a beer and watching tv, if that's cool," he said, heading that way with an unopened bottle in each hand. "Yeah, sure, whatever, I'll let you know when it's done," Roman replied, the sound of knife blades tapping against a cutting board emanating from the kitchen.

After what seemed to Dean like an eternity, Ro finally called Dean into the kitchen. As always, the table was laid out impeccably, the glistening steak strips artfully arranged on each plate, sliced with the precision of a surgeon. Dean plunked himself down in front of one of the plates, eyeing them both as though trying to decide which looked like the better of the two. "Medium rare, man, _really_?" he said out loud, annoyed.

Ro gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and then responded, "I'm _not_ cooking it well done. It ruins the meat. I've _told_ you that a million times." He scowled as he sat down in the other chair across the table.

Dean picked up his fork and poked at a piece of meat with a sour expression on his face. "Sorry, but it's fucking _gross_, man. I can't eat cold meat." He shivered in disgust, setting the fork back down and pouting slightly.

Slicing aggressively through his steak, Ro hacked off a chunk and stuffed it into his mouth, trying to keep himself from going off on his unwitting friend. He chewed hard for a few moments, then swallowed, but the feeling was still rising from within him. "_Fine_...don't eat it then," he growled, jaw flexing, eyes fixed on his plate.

Dean scoffed indignantly, eyes growing wide in shock. "What the hell, man? What the fuck is your problem, anyway? Is it too much to expect steak that's fucking _edible_, for fuck's sake?"

Ro clutched his knife in his fist, looking slowly upward. His eyes glowed with resentment and seething anger. "Is it too much to expect some appreciation for the person who went through the trouble to _make_ it?"

"Yeah...it is too much to expect, because you did that on purpose, you fuck. You knew I wouldn't eat it like that, so you made it that way so you could have all of it to yourself, you fucking jerk!" Dean stood up abruptly, sending the chair tumbling behind him. He knew damn well that he wasn't really mad at Ro, but he was flush with anger and frustration and had no outlet for it.

Roman sat unflinchingly, the only detectable movement his ceaselessly tapping foot under the table. He was perilously close to losing control, and Dean seemed to be purposely egging him on. He didn't dare to move for fear of boiling over. In a stern, measured tone, he said quietly, "Dean, please, I'm begging you-"

"DONT FUCKING BEG ME FOR SHIT, ASSHOLE!" Dean blurted out, grabbing a piece of meat off his plate and hurling it at Roman. He backed up with his fists raised, ready for a counterattack.

Ro leaned slightly to the right and calmly caught the meat projectile between his teeth, chewing once and swallowing. He stood up, walked around the table and stood face to face with Dean, both men snarling with pent-up rage. "You wanna go? Huh? You wanna GO?!" He goaded, butting their foreheads together, pushing against him. He could see Dean shaking, eyes pleading even as he stood his ground defiantly. "What do you think? You think you can take me or something?"

Roman smirked in recognition for a moment, then quickly wrapped a hand around Dean's neck and lunged forward, shoving Dean back against the table. When the edge caught him mid-back he crumpled, but Ro easily grabbed him and flipped him face down, bent over the table. He shoved his hand into the back of Dean's head and pinned him down, both men panting and struggling, but Dean quickly gave in to his captor.

"I think we _both_ know I can," he bragged, bucking his hard cock against Dean's ass.

"Fuck you," Dean spat, his breathing labored. "This is all your fault, you know," he accused, not fully in control of the words spilling from his open mouth.

Ro leaned over him, pressing his chest down on top of Dean's back, hands coming around to the front and roughly unfastening Dean's belt and zipper, grinding his hard-on against rounded ass cheeks. "You ungrateful, selfish prick. You're _such_ a piece of shit," he breathed hotly into Dean's ear, fumbling to pull his pants down past his hips. Once they started to give way, he backed up and yanked them down to knee level.

Dean gasped as he felt the cool air hit his exposed nether regions, suddenly feeling intensely vulnerable. He felt Roman's hands on his ass, spreading him open, then he felt Ro's soft, wet tongue lapping it's way up. "_Fuck_," he panted, squirming against the cold tabletop. "Takes one to know one," was all he was able to utter, his mind fragmented between his roiling anger and the hot tongue probing his ass.

"You're fucking pathetic, you know that?" Ro said, standing up and undoing his pants with one hand while pushing his index finger into Dean's slippery entrance with the other. "If anything, this is all _your_ fault. _You_ drove him away, because _you_ are incapable of putting someone _else's_ needs before your _own_," he chastised, jamming his finger in harder to emphasize his words.

Dean nodded in affirmation, eyes squeezed shut as he reached down to hold his ass cheeks apart. "Yeah...do it," he said breathlessly, anticipating what was about to happen. "Teach me a lesson...make me be good again," he pleaded, pushing back into Ro's crotch.

"Fucking whore," Ro groaned, sliding his rigid cock into that tight crevice. "You don't even deserve this dick. You're just a fucking joke."

"I...I know," Dean whimpered, breath hitching as Roman's pole worked its way further inside of him. Hot tears stung his eyes and ran down his face onto the table. "And now he's gone," he sniffed. "I'm so _stupid_."

"Yeah, you are," Roman agreed, pushing himself in up to the hilt. He let out a relieved groan, then began pumping in and out, gradually picking up speed as he grew more aroused. "God, you piss me off," he sighed, quickly becoming overwhelmed by the feeling of Dean's slick passage clutching around his thickness. His thrusting rocked the table, the squeaking mingling with the slapping of flesh and heated moans.

Dean felt like he was going to explode at any moment, his straining cock bouncing against the underside of the table. He tried to move a hand around to stroke himself off, but Roman caught him and pinned both hands behind his back as he continued to pound his ass relentlessly. "If you wanna cum, you better find another way, because you don't even deserve to have that cock touched. You're just lucky you've got this nice little boy pussy, because that's about all you're good for now. Fucking _cunt_."

Roman's breathing was becoming erratic as he plowed that flexing hole, and he knew he was getting close to the edge. He could hear Dean panting beneath him, waiting for the thrust that would put him over. Dean looked back, growling, "I hate you _sooo_ fucking _much_ right now."

Just then, Roman noticed one of the steak knives rattling on the table next to Dean's head. He grabbed Dean's hair and pulled his head up with one hand and grabbed the knife in the other, pressing the serrated blade against Dean's jugular. Leaning down over him again, he growled a reply. "Not as much as I hate you, you piece of fucking garbage. You EVER hurt him again, and I'll slit your worthless fucking throat...you GOT that?!"

"Unhh..._yessssss_," Dean cried as his orgasm overtook him and his untouched cock spurted out his pent-up load, groaning and shaking as he emptied all his frustrations in one great burst onto the kitchen floor. As soon as Dean's ass began to spasm, Roman gave a couple more hard thrusts and filled that hot channel with his release, animalistic noises tearing their way out of his mouth.

After a few moments, he collapsed onto Dean's back, still catching his breath. He put the knife down and silently put himself back together, leaving Dean bent over the table, his pants down to his knees and a stream of cum slowly dribbling from his ravaged asshole.

Ro grabbed Dean's dinner plate and looked down at him, smiling. "So, how well done do you want this, anyway? Shoe leather?" he asked, tossing the plate into the microwave. "5 minutes on high ought to do it."


End file.
